


Being Needed

by Tarvok



Series: Redemption [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Character Death, Character Study, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Domestic Violence, M/M, Mental Instability, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarvok/pseuds/Tarvok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is needed somewhere, and he's going to stay until the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Needed

**Author's Note:**

> I do not plan my stories out ahead of time. This will be updated on that basis. Please be patient.

Being Needed,  
As recounted by Captain James T. Kirk.

By Tarvok

 

The _Enterprise_ is in dry dock above the planet. We just arrived at Earth shortly after sunrise in San Francisco yesterday. The Lady's undergoing a minor refit and a full restock, while I'm down here at Starfleet HQ getting ready for some bureaucratese-filled meeting about the Gamma Quadrant, a place I have never even seen.

I really hate wearing the regulation dress uniform, but at least it's not the same as running for my life in a dry wet-suit. The chaffing was enough to put me off that for the rest of my life and then some, if possible.

I need to grab a pen and a sheet of paper from... anywhere I can find at this point. You would think the brass would have something in place to provide supplies to those of us who have, up until this point, been in, oh I don't know – outer space. I manage to find an unlocked office and approach the desk, hoping it isn't locked up tight. When it turns out it isn't, I drop my hat off to the side, and I find what I need in the second drawer on the left, after checking two others. I start to head out of the room, and realise I forgot my hat, so I turn back around. There's movement out of the corner of my right eye, and I freeze. What I hear next stops my blood cold.

“James.”

Without turning around, I know who it is. I would recognise that deep baritone anywhere.

 _Khan_.

I take a deep breath, and say rather unsteadily, “How many did you kill getting out."

I hear a low chuckle, and soft footsteps that stop directly to my left, far too close to me. “None, James. I knew you wouldn't like it.”

I let out a sigh. “Oh, so that's supposed to be reassuring?” I can't get a decent sight of him. He is standing too far from the natural lighting coming in through the ceiling-to-floor windows. Does he have a phaser? A knife? Anything at all? I can't see.

“You can view it however you like.” His voice is hoarse now, and I can feel his right hand as he gently rests it on my left shoulder. “They will not keep you from me now.”

I jerk away, and turn to face him. “What are you talking about? Are you here to kill me, to exact your revenge?”

His hair is disheveled, full of knots, and much longer than I remember; about shoulder-length. His white clothes are heavily wrinkled. I notice his long-sleeved shirt is on inside out. I repress the urge to point it out. He's got no shoes on, and I see his bloody feet left their mark on the carpet behind where he was previously standing.

“Revenge, James? No. I have grown beyond such a pitiful existence.”

“Oh. Okay. Then why are you here?”

A soft smile forms on his face, and my gut twists. I suddenly feel like a fawn facing down a lion.

“You know why I am here, James. You can stop pretending for these fools. I have missed you.” He takes a step toward me, and it's all I have to not recoil back several. I hold my ground. I see he has no weapon in hand, but he could be hiding several on his person.

“Again, what are you talking about, Khan?”

He shakes his head from side to side, _tsking_ all the while. “I believe I told you to call me John if it would make you more comfortable.”

“Um. All right, 'John.' _What do you mean_?” I start thinking about how funny this encounter will be if I make it out.

“I came for you, just as I promised. We can be happy together.” His face suddenly scrunches up like he's tasted something awful, and I briefly wonder what it might be. I notice for the first time how blown his pupils are. I realise then that he's completely, flipping, out of his mind right now.

“When did you promise me that, Kh- John? Can you remember for me?” I make my tone as soft and gentle as possible. The last thing I want is to freak him out.

“You do not remember, James?” He clenches his hands into fists at the bottom of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric even more.

“No, no. I remember. I want to be sure that _you_ do.” His fists unclench from the bottom hem, but his face doesn't relax. I figure it must be painful for him, whatever it is he's dealing with in his head right now. He doesn't speak for a good minute or so.

“I can't... I don't know. I... I forgot.” He lets out a small cry and collapses on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chin, and wrapping his arms around his legs. His fists clench and unclench in the fabric of his pants, near his shins. “How could I forget? I promised you, James. I know I did. Didn't I?”

I remain where I am. “It's okay. You don't have to remember.”

“No! You are...” His voice is barely above a whisper, and I can't tell if he's actually speaking to _me_ or not.

“I am what?”

“My most... important.”

“Most important what, John?”

“How could you do this to me?” His right fist pounds the floor, leaving a slight dent there. I flinch involuntarily.

“What... what am I doing to you?”

“Toying with me!”

“How am I toying with you? I don't understand.” I take a calculated risk, or at least that's what I tell myself later, and kneel down in front of him, still keeping my distance.

“You're pretending that you don't remember us, and are trying to trap me.”

“No, John. I'm testing you. I want to know if you're the one pretending.”

“Why would I pretend?” His voice is so small and lost, but he relaxes and unfolds his legs.

“Maybe you've been lonely in that cell all by yourself. I know how that feels – to be all alone.”

“All... alone...” He looks down at the carpet and I take the time to really look at his feet. His left has some superficial scrapes on it, but his right looks like it, at one time, seriously needed stitches.

“Are your feet hurting you?”

“Wha-?” Those light eyes are focused on mine once more.

“Your feet.” I indicate his right foot with a wave of my hand.

“It is a small price for seeing you again.” He says this with such conviction, that I wonder what I've gotten myself into by not bolting the moment I noticed he was there.

“John?”

“Yes, James?”

“Are you all right?”

“No, I...” He looks down at himself, as though he's never seen his own body before. “So much white. I hate white!” He begins to pull at his shirt, his pants.

“Stop,” I say firmly. He jumps at the sound, stops and looks at me with wide eyes. “Keep your clothes _on_.”

“Forgive me.” He again averts his gaze to the floor.

“John,” I say to get him to look at me again. “Will you tell me about us?”

“I gave you earrings,” he blunders.

“... Okay.”

“I notice that you do not wear them. I see, as your crew would not understand.”

“All right. What wouldn't they understand, John?” His pupils slowly begin to return to normal, and he begins to shake and twitch.

“My... love... for... you.”

Suddenly, I can't find my voice. _Did he just_...? Now I'm the one staring wide-eyed as he shifts forward onto his knees, despite his shivering, and manages to crawl over to me. I go to back up, but his shaky hand on the back of my neck stops me. I can see tears at the corners of his eyes; his right pupil is normal, while his left is blown wide. He's blinking slowly, as if it's difficult to stay awake, causing the tears to fall.

“I love... you, James. I am so... sorry.”

Then he seizes, and I am screaming at the top of my lungs for help.

 

\-------

 

I have spent the past few hours sitting on and off in a really uncomfortable, wobbly, grey-black chair at the end of Khan's bed in his hospital room. He's strapped in about four feet in front of me to my left. His hair is still all knotted up, and there's an oxygen mask on his face. His breathing is relatively even for a man who was almost dead a few hours ago, though it hitches every once in a while. When the paramedics brought him in, they cut his inside-out shirt off, but kept him in his pants. I'd pulled the thin sheet covering him up over his bare chest a little while ago as best I could. He may be augmented, but I imagine he still gets cold. I don't really know why I did it.

Bones had beamed down as soon as I told him what happened, and took over his care. He even gave him a “John Shmo” designation to keep Starfleet and the police out of it. I figure it was important enough to him, as I received minimal complaints on his journey through the transporter. He was off running tests while I was running everything that had happened through my mind, over and over. I knew I'd have to wait until he woke up – if he did, to talk to him.

Are what Khan said the delusions of a madman? Or was he sincere? I already knew he couldn't be trusted, but... he'd apologised. I'm assuming here it was for murdering Pike. He admitted to doing it, and then willingly went in to serve his time. That was six years ago. Six years out of his twenty-year sentence. It was gonna be life, but they took into account what Marcus did to him, and claimed he was somewhat under duress. He ended up with two years for every person he killed that day, and they didn't bother pinning the fourty-two other lives lost on him. That was apparently pinned on Marcus. I had absolutely no say in any of it, but I was branded a “silent hero,” in that nobody was to know who he really was, or what really happened in space. A hero nobody can know about.

I still can't believe he said he... that he is in love with me. I can't wrap my mind around that, and I'm not sure I want to. I run my hand through my hair, matted with sweat. We have to keep his room a bit warmer than usual, as some time a while ago his body temporarily lost the ability to control his temperature, and it dropped pretty low. Bones doesn't think it'll happen again, but he wants to be careful. I'm still in my dress uniform; I lost the stupid hat somewhere between HQ and here.

Bones has just strolled through the door, not looking up from his PADD, his ever-present disgruntled look steady on his face. “Well, Jim, it looks like they implanted some sort of device on him. Right inside his Thoracic vertebrae. It looks like it was set to go off after he got a certain distance from where they were holding him. I'd imagine, from what you told me, that he was flying pretty high on whatever charge they put in this thing while you were talking with him.” He sat his PADD down on the stand to the left side of Khan's bed, and was pinching the bridge of his nose between the index finger and thumb of his right hand.

“Will he be okay, or is this something permanent?”

“Oh he'll be fine all right, now that I've got the damned thing out of him.” Bones lets out a heavy sigh. “Thing is, Jim, I looked. I mean I _really_ looked, and there's no protocol that states that any criminal that goes in willingly and serves his time should be implanted with any 'stay or die' device. There isn't one for violent criminals who are locked up _un_ willingly, either. This thing was in there to kill him, Jim, and it was put there on purpose and hidden. Had you not got me here as soon as ya did, and had I not found it with my tricorder and taken it out... he'd be dead now. Not sure how I feel about saving the bastard, but I'm not just gonna let him die. I'm a doctor, not a murderer.”

“Thanks, Bones.... Listen,” I run my hand through my hair again, letting out a slight sigh of frustration. “There's something else I didn't tell you.”

“Oh?” He's got this look on his face like he suspected as much.

“Yeah. He snuck up on me, but he wasn't violent. Bones, he had no weapon with him, and his feet were cut up pretty bad... as you already know... and he wasn't in his right mind.”

“We already established th-...”

“ _Bones_. He said he was _sorry_. Then he said that he _loved_ me right before he seized.” I'm looking at my Chief Medical Officer with what is probably desperation written all over my face.

“You've gotta be kidding me.” He moves to sit in the chair next to where he was standing. We're now about eight feet apart, what with me on Khan's other side.

“He also said he'd told me to call him 'John,' but I don't ever remember that. He said he'd gotten me these gold earrings to wear...”

“Maybe he's confusing you with someone else.”

“No, no. He told me I wasn't wearing them because 'my crew wouldn't understand.' Bones, there's no way he could have had me confused.”

“And you know this, _how_?” He was leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, looking at me like I'd grown an extra head or two.

“He called me 'James.'” I sat back in my chair, wriggling a bit in a futile attempt to get comfortable. “God, this chair is fucking horrible.”

“Yeah, all the chairs are. They spare no expense for the mattresses, but the chairs... Jim. Are you seriously telling me you've now got a superhuman pining after you? Jesus, man.”

“I don't know!” I keep my voice down to a whisper. “All I know is what he said, and what happened. And that I didn't _do_ anything to cause it! Don't you go blaming me.”

“I'm not, Kiddo. You have your charm. Not your fault.” Bones gets up and checks Khan's vitals again. “He seems to be getting some brain activity. If we're gonna keep talking about him, we'd better go into the other room.” I watch as he adjusts the restraints on Khan's left arm a little tighter, leaving white marks in his skin that quickly become red and irritated.

“Bones... don't.” I'm not sure why it was bothering me to see him do that. Khan's state hadn't bothered me for the entire time he was locked up, whether on the ship or otherwise. Maybe it was because he'd apologised, and seemed remorseful.. or because without him I'd be dead and not sitting here at all. “You know he can break them regardless of how tight they are.” He cocks a brow in my direction. “Just being practical. What if he wakes up and freaks out because he's tied down?” I do some eyebrow raising of my own, daring Bones to argue with me. “You think that's a good idea right now? We don't even know what state he's actually in inside that head of his.”

“And that's _exactly_ why we're keeping him tied up, Jim.” He goes to tighten Khan's bindings even more, and I stand up and walk toward the bed.

“I said 'no.' Just leave 'em where they are, okay? I'm not saying to untie him and let him go. I'm just saying you don't need to be rough about it.”

Bones lets out an irritated sigh and throws his hands up in the air. “ _Oh fine, Captain_.” He moves to pick up his PADD and heads toward the door. Once he reaches the door, he turns toward me where I'm standing about a foot from Khan's bed, looks like he's about to say something, stops, then shakes his head and leaves.

I stand there, looking after him for a moment, then look down at Khan. He's laying there, sleeping peacefully. I noticed his breathing even out while I was talking to Bones. There hasn't been any hitching for a little while now. There's some ugly bruising around his collar bone that I hadn't seen earlier. I take note that it looks like it was put there by hands. The angle is off... it doesn't look like whoever did it got a good grip. I figure maybe someone came up behind him while he was escaping and tried to choke him out. I hadn't been able to cover all of his upper body due to the series of straps all along his arms, and I notice the same bruising lower on his hips. I can't think of any reason there'd be bruising there, so I reach over to pull the sheet down. There isn't just bruising, but what looks like fingernail scratches on his hipbones. My gut twists. I start hoping these are all self-inflicted, rather than... Some of these bruises look several days old, and the scratches are nearly healed over. I remember his augmented blood, and admit I can't really tell how old they are.

I pull the sheet back up and try to do a better job covering him up this time. I manage to tuck the sheet in pretty well, and decide he looks better when he's not homicidal. A soft laugh escapes my lips. Suddenly, there's a series of quiet beeps coming from his biobed and I see his eyes fluttering open. I smack the 'shut up' button that's to my left with my left hand, and the beeping stops. After a moment, his eyes are open about half-way and his breathing starts to pick up. I see him try to move his right arm, and the moment he realises he can't, I also see his eyes widen and he starts to struggle.

“You're in a hospital.” My voice comes out a bit hoarse. I clear my throat. His eyes immediately focus on me and he settles down. I reach over and remove the mask.

“James.” Khan's voice sounds like the gravel on blacktop under my bike tires in the blistering Iowa Summer from when I was kid. When things were simpler, and I was happier.

“Hey,” I manage a small smile. “You feeling okay?”

“My left arm feels nothing,” he says in a blank tone. I take in how irritated the skin around the straps is on his left arm from where Bones tightened them, and move to the other side of the bed and go to loosen them.

“That better?” My left hand lingers a bit too long on the third strap down, but I don't notice. The entire time it's there, he just stares at me. I feel frozen to the spot. Then he blinks and it's over. I move my hand and put it in my pocket. He tries to clear his throat and fails. I put up my right hand in a gesture of patience, and go over to the replicator to get him some water. I bring it back over and am thankful these beds are always at an angle near ninety degrees as I carefully place the plastic cup to his lips. When he's finished, I sit it down over the same spot Bones had set his PADD. “There ya go. Good as new.”

“Yes.” His eyes narrow at my nervous fidgeting. I'm wringing my hands, and no amount of willing them to stop is working. “Are you upset, Kirk?”

“Oh. Not really. Just been thinkin'.”

“About?”

“What you said.” I look down at the floor for a second, then back up toward Khan. I keep my eyes on his restraints and not his face.

“Ah. I believe that in my compromised state, I may have revealed more to you than preferred.”

I try to direct the conversation, “So you never had any intention of apologising?”

“Oh I had every intention of doing that.” His voice sounds strange to my ears. Soft.

“Right. So you feel bad for murdering my mentor?” I look at his face now, resolutely holding eye-contact.

He smiles now, that same smile that always made me feel small and insignificant and completely unsafe. “No. I apologise for hurting _you_.”

I laugh now, uncomfortably, and my chest feels tight. “I should've known. You aren't sorry in the least.” I turn away and walk toward the ceiling-to-floor windows, my arms crossed. I can hear him clear his throat a couple times and shift around. A small part of me wonders if he's breaking out of his bonds, and I turn around just enough to see. All he's done is move to a higher sitting position, his arms at an odd angle with his shoulders pulled down. He puffs a breath to get his hair out of his eyes.

“I _am_ sorry.” His face crumples like it did before, and I briefly wonder if it's going to happen all over again.

“You don't even care that you took the lives of innocent people!” My voice is a harsh whisper, but I notice that he flinches. I wonder why.

“All is fair in war.” His eyes narrow at me again, and I think, belatedly, as his biobed begins to beep again, that he's upset.

“This isn't a war, Khan. We don't fight wars now if we can help it, and we certainly don't start them, regardless of what Marcus,” I note the twitch at mention of that name, “may have told you. Now calm down or you're gonna give yourself another damned seizure.”

“I am having seizures?” His brows fold inward, and I'm struck by how much he looks like a little kid about to throw a tantrum. After another few seconds, the beeping stops.

“Yeah. That's what put you here in the first place.”

“So that is what these are. I had not known why.”

“Known why _what_?” Does he always talk like that, in vague sentences like he's talking to himself when someone else is in the room?

“It is none of your concern.”

“Oh, of course.” I wave my right hand from where it is across my chest in a vague gesture of termination. “Do you remember what _else_ you said to me?” I shift from one leg to the other, and I can see him hesitate.

“I do not.”

I bark out a laugh that sounds a bit deranged to my own ears. “You said you were in love with me... _John_.” I feel some sick sense of amusement when his eyes widen and he gasps. He looks away from me and directly to the sheet covering his lap.

“That _weakling_ loves you.” I can barely hear it. I lean forward slightly. “He will tell you all manner of ridiculous fantasies, which are of course, merely fantasies.” Now he turns his head to look back at me, his eyes suddenly like ice. “I love no one anymore.”

“Not even your family?”

“My family was... killed... the moment I escaped, Kirk.” His voice cracks in the middle of that sentence.

“Then why _did_ you escape?” I tilt my head slightly to the left, and relax my arms, lowering them to my sides.

Khan's icy gaze melts as his breath hitches and tears begin to form, then fall. “You are all I have left, James. Fantasies though they are, they are all I _have_.” The last word was practically a hiss. His breathing hitches once more as he just stares at me, the tears continuing to flow.

All I can do is stare for what seems like a long time. There's snot coming from his nose, and he's making no attempt to stop crying. I doubt he can at this point. It takes too long for me to realise his arms are strapped down, so he couldn't do anything if he wanted to. I startle and grab the handkerchief out of my left breast pocket and step forward. The moment the hankie connects with the left side of his face, his quiet crying becomes gasping sobbing, though he's doing it as quietly and stoically as possible. I make little _shushing_ sounds as I start to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Then when I'm satisfied with that, I aim for his nose and mouth. It's a bit hard to keep up with, honestly, but I try my best. I have to unfold the hankie to do a better job. I've honestly never had to do this before, let alone for a grown man, but I think I did pretty well once he starts to calm down. His breathing stays erratic for a while, and I vaguely wonder why the bed never went off. I look over to my right and see that the sensor's broken.

“Huh. Wouldya look at that? You popped the fuse.” I lightly tap the nodule with my knuckles. It lets out one pathetic half- _boop_ and dies. I've no idea where to put the hankie, so I drop it in his lap, and wipe my hands on my thighs.

Khan clears his throat, “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” I walk away and back toward the windows, my hands clasped behind my back. Several minutes pass in silence, with the occasional sniffle and sigh from the bed.

“You look splendid in your uniform, James.”

I turn around and paste a small smile on my face. “I hope so. This is the most horrendously uncomfortable thing to wear in the universe. The hat's even worse."

Khan's face lights up, and his eyes get all crinkly, but then the sound of footsteps entering the room break the spell and he frosts over. I feel a vague sense of loss and annoyance.

“Oh lookie. The sleeping princess has finally woken up.” Bones approaches the bed and stops in front of me. He takes one look at the broken readout, and takes out his tricorder. I see he doesn't have his PADD with him. “Well, everything seems in order. There's still some abnormal readings from that lovely organ inside your cranium, but I figure those'll either even out or not. I'm gonna need to run a couple tests to see your neurotransmitter levels, see if there's any lasting damage-...”

“'Lasting damage'?”

“I pulled an implant outta your neck, Khan. It was frying your nervous system. Had I not done it, you'd be dead now.” Bones sits the tricorder down next to the glass of water from earlier, pausing briefly to notice it.

“Did you think for one moment, Doctor, that this is not what I wished?”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but I'm a doctor. I'm not in the business of just letting someone die.” He huffs a breath in annoyance, and stomps off, grumbling under his breath about faulty equipment, presumably to get what he needs for the tests and to file a complaint about the biobed. I watch him leave, a resigned smile on my face.

After a short while, Khan clears his throat and sniffs. “What will happen to me?” I take a few steps toward the bed until I am within inches of it.

“I don't know. Give me a reason you shouldn't be locked up.” I try to say it casually, like this isn't someone's freedom I'm talking about.

Khan shifts in the bed, and remains sort of huddled in on himself. “I can give you several. Examine the security footage of Block 35 at the Stetson Penitentiary, for one.”

“What will I see, Khan?” My brow crinkles as I look at him, my gaze sharp.

“Something far worse than what _I_ have ever done.” I don't fail to notice his eyes flicking away from mine to his lap and back again, though they give nothing away otherwise.

“And what would that be?” I lean back on my heels, and run my left hand through my even more matted hair. It's still so damned hot in the room, and I notice for the first time the sweat glistening off his bare, hairless chest.

“Run a full epidermal tricorder sweep on me.” I follow his gaze to the tricorder Bones left behind on the table next to us. I'm not the best at using the things, but as a captain, I did learn.

“I thought you couldn't scar?”

“Under the proper circumstances, I most certainly can.” His voice is barely audible, his face solemn. I recall how it only took about an hour for any evidence of Bones' operation to remove the implant to completely disappear.

I reach over to my right and pick up the tricorder. I flip a switch, press a couple buttons, and _presto_ – tricorder sweep enabled. I carefully run it along his face, neck, jaw, then both his arms, and then his chest. I stop to make sure I've actually set it properly, then I pass the sensor over his stomach, then down to his hips. A sudden intake of breath from Khan is all the warning I receive before the tricorder comes up with extensive internal and external scarring as I approach the area between his legs. My eyes wide, I quickly shut off the device, and hastily sit it back down on the stand, nearly knocking over the plastic cup of water in the process. Several moments pass in tense silence. I look at his face, but his eyes are closed, his breathing unsettled.

“Wha-...” I clear my throat much too loudly. I gather my resolve, and then whisper, “What did they _do_ to you?”

“They took a king's dignity away,” he says without even opening his eyes.

 

\-------

 

“Bones, I'm serious. You need to run a full scan on him. He can't go back there, no matter who he is, or what he's done. It's unethical to-” I wave my arms around frantically, hoping he'll just shut up for a minute and _listen_.

“All right, all right, Jim! Sit down!” Bones slams his left fist down on the desk between us, surprisingly startling himself even more than me. We're in his temporary office at PubMed Hospital, and we've been arguing about what to do with Khan for the past twenty minutes.

“Fine. I'll sit. If you don't _listen_ to me, I'll have to-”

“Shut. Up, Jimbo.” He goes to sit down as well, rubbing his left hand with his right, that familiar look of frustration pasted to his face, as usual. “Show me what you saw. The tricorder records all scans. I can download it to my PADD and give it a look. Hand it over.” I hesitantly hand the tricorder over into his impatiently gesturing fingers. Until this moment, I've had it in a white-knuckle grip in my right hand. He takes it from me, and with the tricorder sitting on the desk to his right, and his PADD held in his left hand, he transfers the scan data over to his PADD. “Okay. So I see you did a decent-resolution internal sweep. Not sure why, but-...” I see his eyes narrow as he's focusing on the scan. “This is mighty shaky and hard to really make anything out and... oh my God.” He stops, eyes wide, his lips slightly parted mid-sentence.

“See what I mean, Bones? Your own scans from when he was on the ship didn't show that!” My hands are in my lap, just barely shaking.

“No. No they did _not_. My God, Jim. What the _fuck_ did they do to him? We can't... we have to... oh my God, what are we gonna do, Jim? We have to take him somewhere... but there's got to be security, he's not to be trusted, we can't just-...” He's sat the PADD down on the desk and he's looking at it like it's a live bioweapon, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Maybe... maybe Elder Spock can help. Our Spock said he knew all about Khan from his own time, but beyond giving him an idea of what to do to stop him, he wouldn't say any more. It's worth a shot, because he's probably our only option at this point.” It was becoming a nervous habit to run my hand through my hair, and I run my left through it now. My fingers get stuck on a knot and I make a face. I feel so disgusting and I'm sure the lack of a shower is only a large part of it. “Someone should have been watching him, dammit...! I haven't even seen this 'Block 35, Stetson Penitentiary' footage he spoke about.”

“ _The fuck_?! They've got the shit on film? Sweet Jesus, sweet Mother of God. I have to make a call.” Bones gets up as quickly as I've ever seen him, and he's nearly to the door in less time than it takes for me to form a thought.

I turn in my chair, “Wait. Bones you have to make sure that who you call isn't going to be a-”

“Sarek, I'm calling Sarek. Then I'm calling Spock.” At my raised eyebrow, he hastily adds, “The wrinkly one.” Then he's out of the room, tossing a, “Sit with him, Jim,” over his shoulder.

I remain in the chair for a while longer, not turning away from the door he just left through, my right arm resting over the back. A part of me is pissed as hell; there's been yet _another_ hurt caused in this mess. We all thought the corruption was just Marcus, but I think we're seeing now that no, no it wasn't. No it _isn't_. And now another person, maybe not an _innocent_ one, but _no one deserves that_ , has now fallen to that blade. I sigh, shake my head, then stand and leave the office, heading down the right hall to Khan's room.

As I pass the occasional nurse, I wink and easily hand out compliments as usual. I'm not in it in the least. My guts twists the closer I get the room, and I can't get my mind off the scratches and the bruising I saw covering his hips. I figure it would take some kind of special... implement – _God_ \- to leave a permanent mark like those scars from the scan, but... those other marks? The scratches and the bruises? There's only one thing that could ever cause that.

Someone forced their... and he fought back. I may not have seen any marks on his hands, but I doubt that makes a difference. They undoubtedly had him tied up. _No wonder he panicked in the restraints_ , I think. _Shit. There's no way he would've submitted to that_. Either they had something on him – most likely his crew, or there was something else going on.

I'm approaching his room now, and as I stop an inch from the door, I take him in through the small window in the upper-half; his hair over his eyes, his head bowed, shoulders shaking. I briefly think that maybe I ought to empty my stomach before talking to him. I had a light lunch, but I never needed much more to successfully project it at the worst time. Then I man up and open the door, slowly.

“Hey. It's me.” He gasps and looks up, his eyes red-rimmed. More snot is coming out of his nose. I wonder if I was a snotty crier as a kid, but can't remember. I can't seem to remember anything right now. “You need some tissues? I'll need to go get some maybe.” I remember the hankie laying on his lap, which is now on the floor. He probably tried to get at it, and it fell. “I doubt you want that nasty thing now...”

His voice is full of snot and sounds absolutely horrible, “It fell. The damned piece of shit fell on the floor, and I can't even keep it together.” His face contorts in a look of utter hatred and disgust with both himself and the blasted handkerchief, and I step forward, a wry smile on my face.

“Hey, we both know that when you need it the most it runs away, right? I'll see if there's some tissues in here before I look anywhere else.” I head toward the small anteroom right across and in front of his bed. There are some clean white gowns and one's long-sleeved. I grab it. After looking around and only coming up with a bedpan and some gloves, I give up. I head back out, looking rather sheepish. “Sorry. No snot-lockers. I did find this, though.” I hold up the gown in my right hand. He takes one look at me, then at it, and bucks his arms up against the restraints for emphasis.

I walk over to the door and lock it from the inside. Then I turn around and walk toward the bed, stopping at the foot. “If you'll help me out here, I can give you this.”

“Do I look in any condition to be helping you do _anything_?” He sniffles, but nothing happens. There's just too much snot everywhere. I notice he's even got some on his chest. _Damn_.

“I meant, so long as you don't attempt to escape or sucker punch me, I can help you get cleaned up and you can put this on. I'll even adjust the damned heat in here because, fuck, it's hotter than hell.”

“Nothing is hotter than hell.” He's tilting his head back, hair falling with the motion; some on his shoulders, some his back, looking like he dares me to argue.

“Let me unhinge those and we'll head into the bathroom,” I don't miss the flinch at that, “or I can just go find a washcloth and wash your face?” At his nod, I move to his left and undo the digital locks on the restraints. A few beeps later and his left arm is free. He doesn't move it. I lay the gown on his lap, and make my way to the other side of the bed. A few more little beeps, and his right arm is free. I move the railings out of the way, thinking of how stupid and unnecessary they were in the first place, and I turn away. I hold my arm out to him. The bathroom is just to our right by a few feet. I figure he'll put the gown on himself, and I'll give him another shot at heading to the bathroom.

I'm not disappointed. He reaches for the gown, sniffles a few times, blinks enough to see straight, then slips his left arm in it. It gets stuck on the pillow for a second, but he gets it enough to slip it over his back and manages to shove his right arm in, too.

“My offer to go with you still stands. If it's a 'no,' a kindly 'fuck you,' will suffice.” I raise my entire brow, waiting as he seems to war with himself, or his memories, or both. My arm is just getting tired, little tingles starting to burn throughout, when he snaps his own right arm out to pull himself into a sort-of scoot to the edge of the bed. _Damn, he's strong_ , I wonder.

After about another minute or so, he lets go of me with the right, and tries to stand on his own. It's a bit wobbly, but he manages. Everything's smooth and wonderful until he gets to three steps and his legs give out. I'm there, naturally, and I catch him by grabbing his left forearm with both my hands. He flinches.

“So. Bones and I have come up with a maybe plan to get you out of here.” At that, he looks over at me, his eyes searching. “He's working out the details, but I think it'll work.” After a few more seconds of him just staring at me, he must see what he was looking for, because he looks away. My hands are still under his left arm, and I observe just how warm he is. Bones had said his stable body temperature is around 102.4 degrees Fahrenheit, so I figure that explains how feverish he is through the sleeve.

He tries to take another shaky step forward, but I have a shitty, sweaty grip on him and down he goes to the floor like a marionette with it's strings cut. “Shit. Khan, I'm sorry. I thought I had a better hold.” He's just sitting there on the floor, not moving or anything, barely breathing, just staring at the floor, his hair over his face. His fists are clenched so tight I hear some of his left knuckles popping.

I crouch down next to him, and before I manage to get a word in to ask if he's okay, or if he needs anything, he makes this choked noise, like something between a sob and a curse word. That's when I smell it. That acrid smell you really don't want to smell in polite company. I give him a bit, and he doesn't look up. His hands are still in tight fists on the floor, and his arms are shaking; from embarrassment or anger, I'm not sure.

“I still wet the bed when the nightmares get bad enough."

I wait another two minutes and just crouch there, not even pretending to not smell it now. It's not like I have a choice. He turns to look at me. I've seen that haunted look before, and it still makes my guts feel like I swallowed an entire sack of ice.

“You do?” His voice is so quiet that I barely hear it.

“Oh yeah. Hell, I did it like two days ago when we first got to Earth and I... The mere thought of even being at HQ,” the flinch isn't as pronounced this time, but it's there in his eyes nonetheless, “makes me avoid drinking anything for like, four hours before bed. I screwed up last time, and I bet Housekeeping wasn't happy.” I let out a breathy laugh and I can feel that I'm smirking. “They'll have to actually wash the sheets.”

“Too bad for them.” His voice is much more steady now. “What shall we do now?”

“Whelp... I usually just curse myself, grab a change of clothes, and then shower. I'm thinking you'll just need a washcloth at the sink and everything's good as new. I can bug a nurse for some scrub pants. Hell, I'll even bug one for a shirt. I'm baking in this and I'm really sure I don't wanna see the stains under it.” I make a face and he smiles. It's wobbly, but it's there. “Let's just get you in there first, then I'll deal with the details, okay?” Khan slowly nods, looking away.

I carefully slip my right arm around his back and once I've got a decent grip under his right armpit, I repeat the maneuver with our left sides. I lift, and with a grunt from one of us, he's on his feet. I shift until my arms are all the way under him, and we sort of awkwardly make it away from the wet spot on the floor and to the bathroom. I lead him over to the sink, where I think he pulls off holding himself up without too much trouble, and I head to the linen closet nearby. I grab a couple drab beige washcloths, and sit them on the sink. I shrug and take off my dress uniform jacket. Sure enough, there are these nasty and entirely unattractive armpit sweat-stains. I just sigh in resignation and go to wet the first cloth.

“It'll help with the dried snot.” I make sure the washcloth is warm enough. He closes his eyes with an unsteady breath. I go for his eyes first, because nobody wants snot in their eyes.

Once that's finished, I carefully get as much of the stuff off his face as I can. I drop the used rag in the hamper by the sink, then I go back and get a matching towel. I dry his face for him, and he sighs into the towel. “There. I got most of it. There's some on your chest, too.” When he opens his eyes I hand him the towel. “Think you can get it? I'm gonna get another towel for you to put on once you shed those things,” I motion toward his saturated pants and gown. “While I get some pants, I'll get a shirt for you, too.”

He's scrubbing at the stuff on his chest, and he's making a face like he thinks this entire experience is horribly disgusting and just totally beneath him. I try to not laugh, because it's kind of adorable to see him so _human_. An odd feeling settles in the back of my neck, and I know it means _danger_.

I quickly turn away and grab the last towel out of the linen closet. I don't turn back around, but I slightly wave the towel behind me. “I'll stay like this while you do whatever.” I can hear some movement behind me, a quiet sigh, then the sound of soggy clothing hitting the floor. The water's running again, so I figure he's cleaning himself up. I secretly hope I'm not standing too far away, in case he pitches to the floor again.

It doesn't take long for the towel to be taken out of my hand, and a hoarse, “Go find the clothing,” is muttered in my general direction. I don't even bother responding; just turn around and walk out, making a point to not look at him. I completely miss how his eyes follow my every move to the locked door and beyond.

I succeed in finding a nurse to ask for some scrubs, and she even offers to retrieve a long-sleeved set for him. I quietly think she deserves a medal for not commenting on how nasty my own undershirt looks. I definitely got a few pitying looks on my to finding her. She does give me a funny look after I tell her what happened in the room and that she'll probably need to find a janitor, though.

“Did you help him into the bathroom?” She's folding some towels and holds out a fresh short-sleeved sky blue scrub shirt for me. Once she turns her back to me, that look on her face still, I hurry and switch shirts, tossing my dirty one in the hamper in the corner. I can see she's got a pristine set of white scrubs for me to take to Khan.

“Yeah. I don't think he'd have appreciated me leaving him there.” I shrug. _The collar of this thing is a bit scratchy_ , I think. “It wasn't hard to help him out. There's a fully-outfitted bathroom in there. I just grabbed some towels and stuff and he was all set.” I shift on my feet. “I _do_ have to get back to him.” The last thing I need is to get back to the room and find it empty. She holds out the scrubs, and I take them and fold them under my left arm. “Oh. Is there any way I can have a box of tissues, there doesn't seem to be-” A small pale yellow box with little white rabbits and coloured eggs is thrust at me. I only just resist the urge to laugh hysterically at this.

“Go. Take care of him. I'll be by in a bit to see if you need anything else.” There, that weird look again. I shrug it off and head back to the room.

When I push the door open, Khan's sitting in the chair Bones had occupied earlier. I close the door behind myself and walk over, holding the scrubs out to him. He takes them and slips the shirt on. “I didn't even know they made long-sleeve ones. I hope white's okay... I didn't see any other colour.” He stands up with minimal trouble, and I barely have time to look away before he's balancing the towel on his hips and stepping into the pants. “I, uh, brought tissues,” I say lamely.

“Leave them on the bed.” He tosses his used towel on the bed, and after I grab a couple tissues and stuff them in my right pocket for easy access later, I do the same with the box. Now we're just standing there facing each other, and I haven't the slightest idea what to do. The door's unlocked, and he's fully clothed. All he's got to do is knock me over the head and leave. Hell, he could _just_ leave. I'd be so shocked that he didn't whack me over the head first that he could get away easily enough by just walking right out the door.

I really need to stop wringing my hands when I'm nervous. “Listen. I don't know where Bones is, but I bet he's on a call right now to get the plan-”

“You will tell me the plan.” His eyes are narrowed at me, and I feel like a bug under a microscope.

I let out a resigned sigh, “I had the idea that we could take you to New Vulcan for a while. Bones agreed to look into it, because it's the only option we've got now. The thing is, the only way this will work is if you can act like a normal, non-homicidal person. The Vulcans aren't gonna allow you to stay otherwise, and there just aren't enough of them to be taking a chance like this. I'd prefer it if you just stopped being scary to begin with, but I don't want to ask too-”

“I am no fool, James. I am fully aware of this as my only option. Do you believe I would willingly sacrifice a chance at freedom?”

“No, I don't. But I know you'd never sacrifice a chance at _revenge_.”

The smile that quickly forms is full of teeth and terror and not something I ever want to see again. “Oh, you'd be right about that.” He lets out a strangled bark of a laugh, his eyes suddenly unfocused. “I have plenty of time.”

“Just...” I desperately try to think of something to say to get that look of his face, “Think about letting someone else exact revenge this time. Please.”

He breathes out a husky, “Oh,” and stalks around to my right to stand barely an inch from me. I am reminded of the time he held me at phaser-point. “Will you do it?” He leans in close, all trace of the demoniacal smile gone, and his voice is but a whisper, “Will _you_ regain my honor, James?” His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot and unreadable.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, hoping to calm my upset stomach. “No amount of violence will do that, Khan. You'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

His face contorts into a sneer and his right hand abruptly grips my right bicep in a fierce grip. I barely contain crying out in shock and pain. “What is the 'old-fashioned way'?”

“Spending years facing your own demons and surpassing them, only to do it over and over again when all _they_ did was change form and grow stronger. It is it's own sweet brand of hell and you're unwillingly along for the ride.” I narrow my own eyes at him, “Sure, killing the assholes who did this will do _something_ , but that's _it_. It won't make the nightmares or the flashbacks stop, and it certainly won't give you your _self_ back. You'll be stronger for the entire process, but only _you_ can become strong again. Doing anyone else harm won't do _shit_.”

“You speak as though you have personal experience.” He lets go of my arm so fast it hurts, and backs away a good few inches. As he moves away, “I will wait here until your McCoy returns with the results of this 'plan',” I watch as he stiffly strolls toward the ceiling-to-floor windows, his arms immobile at his sides.

“We all have our inner-monsters, Khan. It's what we _do_ with them that's important.” I keep my tone even and friendly.

He quickly turns back and faces me. “Have I disappointed you, James? That I would rather smash than caress?” After I look away from his face, I can feel his gaze as his eyes roam over my body. I try to keep still, to not fidget, but I do shake my head in a gesture of 'no.'

Neither of us speak for a few moments. I watch him as he moves away from the windows and approaches me, stopping within an arm's length. He slowly rests his right hand upon my chest and then softly glides it along my collar bone and up to harshly grip the left side of my neck and compresses. I'm starting to have trouble breathing when our eyes meet. He hisses, “I will not smash you, James,” and I barely register my own thoughts as he leans in and connects his dry lips with mine.

It's a steady pressure, but not unpleasant. I can feel the fingers of his left hand gently caressing along the opposite side of my jaw. His grip on me lessens somewhat as he pulls away, applying pressure to my bottom lip with his left thumb. I take an unsteady breath and kiss the pad of his thumb. The smile that comes out of me is weak. He looks at me like he's looking for something in my eyes, then drops his hands back to his sides and turns away toward the windows again.

“Show me how _not_ to,” he whispers.

\-------

 

Bones comes rushing into the room, leaving the door wide open, and he's looking down at the PADD in his hands. “Jim, I got them to agree to it, so long as I can get a medical history and somehow prove he's stable enough to not go off and kill every-” He looks up toward where I am standing, half turned toward him, and sees Khan standing, unrestrained, near the windows. Khan doesn't take his eyes off of whatever he's looking at out the windows, or otherwise acknowledge his sudden presence. “The _fuck_ , Jim! I told you to _sit with him_ , not let him go free!”

“What was I supposed to do, Bones? I distinctly remember hearing you mumble something, but was _that_ it?” I feign innocence and shrug. I miss how Khan's head turns to the left slightly to hear better.

“ _Fuck you_ , Jim Kirk.” Bones hurries back and locks the door behind him. He comes forward to stand slightly behind me, using me as a shield. “The Vulcans have agreed to take you in, Khan. I don't know why... it's not like they can afford to have a homicidal maniac running loose on their new colony.” If Khan realised that he was being addressed, he showed no sign.

“Bones. You said you'd need a medical history?”

“Yeah. They need a full internal scan as is required of everyone on New Vulcan. I figure we can just do it here and save them the trouble. I imagine it'll help them keep his heart out of his side.” He lowers his voice to a near-whisper, “If he even _has_ one, that is.” Khan shifts his stance to face my Chief Medical Officer, his expression unreadable.

“I assure you, McCoy, that I _do_ have a heart. I merely do not spare it for _fools_ ,” Khan smirks. Bones steps past me, his face contorted in anger.

“Oh, so any person besides you is worthless? I figure that's that only reason you'd try to blow _us_ up with your frickin' _crew_ aboard, right?” The moment I notice the subtle shift in Khan's expression, I grab Bones' left shoulder, and force him behind me. I abruptly turn back to my left and right into our superhuman guest's chest. I can feel him shaking with barely restrained anger.

“You pathetic, ignorant, son of a _bitch_ ,” Khan hisses from beyond the hands I have resting on his chest. I can feel his heart beating a mile a minute, and I vaguely wonder how he's actually keeping still. I can feel him trembling and apply more pressure with my hands.

“ _I'm_ pathetic? What about _y-_ ”

“ _Bones! Shut._ _ **Up**_ **.** ” I loudly grit out, not taking my eyes from Khan's contorted features. I am thankful that he listens for once. Wide-eyed, Bones stalks back over to the door. “Khan. _Khan_.” I get him to look at me. “He's a hothead, and we all lost people to the bomb and... afterward. Okay?” He looks away, “No. Look at _me_ , dammit.” His gaze jerks back at me, none too happily. “It's all right. He always says stupid things. It's worse when he's mad. He doesn't mean you don't love your family.”

“ _I will always love my family_ ,” Khan whispers. His hands are in fists at his sides, which I finally notice. I reach down with my right hand to take his left in mine. That hand unclenches and he entwines our fingers. I can hear Bones gasp from where he's standing near the door, and a vague, “ _Fuck_ ,” coming from that general direction.

“I know.” I give his hand a squeeze, and try to smile. It's best to keep him as calm as I can, and if it takes touching him to do it, that I can spare. I turn my body slightly toward Bones, “You said they'd need a full scan?” At his nod, I continue. “Let's get it over with, then. The sooner we can get out of here,” I turn back toward Khan, returning my right hand to his chest, “And you somewhere safe, the better.” I manage another smile, and Khan's eyes narrow. He lets out a gust of breath and nods. I use my left hand to put a stray tendril of hair behind his ear. I don't miss the, “Oh my God,” from Bones.

“It's... just down the hall. The scanner.” I can hear Bones clear his throat. “We are talking about this, Jim. After.” I nod and lead Khan out of the room and down the left hall to the scanner room. He keeps in step easily, though I slow my pace in order to look around, ensuring there are no threats; that Starfleet hasn't somehow discovered he's here. I catch him doing a better job of it in my peripheral vision, and Bones doing nothing but his usual grumpy routine.

We pass some nurses and the one I'd spoken with earlier nods at us as we pass. Her eyes linger a bit too long on Khan and he stiffens next to me. I put my left hand on his shoulder. “We're almost there,” I say to him. “Right, Bones?” I get a grumble in response.

It's not long before we're at the scanner room, and once we enter, Bones closes and locks the door. Khan becomes even more tense under my hand, and I squeeze reassuringly.

Bones motions towards the platform. “Well, get up there. Just lay on your back and we'll get started. It shouldn't be long.”

There's a brief hesitation, but Khan does climb up onto the platform and lay down. He keeps his eyes staring at the ceiling. My Chief Medical Officer turns on the machine and the scanning begins. I'm nervously biting my lip. I can see Bones standing to the left of us poking at buttons and adjusting the intensity of the scan. I am looking at the screen the very moment that the picture focuses and I hear the gasp he can't muffle fast enough. I glance quickly at Khan, and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and his breathing isn't even.

I look back to the scanning image and what's in little red letters on the screen: PATIENT ABNORMALITY. I shift a bit closer and all I can see is scarring, which is what I had expected. Then Bones pokes a few more buttons and I see it as clearly as if Khan was lying on that table in the buff. His entire groin area is a disaster. There's _nothing_ there. Nothing at _all_... just... scar tissue. The machine bleeps and a message flashes across the screen informing of possible reconstruction surgery options. Bones grunts in annoyance and quickly downloads the information to his PADD, then angrily shuts off the machine.

“I think this is all they'll need.” His voice is steady, but his hands are shaking. I can see his relief as his communicator beeps. “The Ambassador's entourage is here to pick you up, Khan. I'll... go let them know where we are.” He unlocks the door and takes off without any backwards glance, and Khan rises off the platform. His eyes are open and he's looking at the floor. After about a minute, he sighs and goes to stand near the one small window in the room.

I take a deep breath. “I didn't know it was that bad.”

“It is of no consequence.” His voice is dead.

“How – I don't understand. What did they hope to do by...?”

“I did it.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Khan turns to face me. “If something offends you, cut it off, yes? It seemed fitting.”

I can't breathe. “'Fitting' how?”

“Each day that I did not give them what they wanted, they would try out a new form of torture on me. After they realised that standard methods were less than effective, they began to get... creative. There were many types of implements used.” Khan's voice had taken on an odd tone. “At first it was the usual, I suppose. After a month or so of their creativity, they would,” his breath hitched, “... _graduate_ the size and shape and texture and frequency of what they used. Eventually one of the fools decided to have a little bit of fun with an experimental form of acid that had been developed specifically for war with the Klingons. I had always been drugged during this, naturally. I wasn't _safe_.” He hissed the last word. “They decided on a new drug this time, one that would ensure that my body betrayed me during their... games. During one particularly enthusiastic session, I blacked out, and when I came to awareness, I realised I had managed to get a hold of one... container of the acid. I then proceeded to remove the offending organ. I blacked out again from the pain. I had fully expected to die.”

I can't see his face anymore, and I dully recognise that I'm crying. I put my right hand over my mouth and nod for him to continue.

“After this little game of theirs proved to no longer be... 'fun,' they brought me the severed head of each of member of my crew and lined each next to my cell, facing me. One head each day for seventy-two days.” Khan's face crumples suddenly and he starts making these desperate choking sounds, mirroring the ones I'm nearly managing to keep quiet. His voice lowers to a harsh, dangerous whisper, “ _It broke me_. They then came into my cell and _raped_ me, _over and over and over_ for days. No need for implements now.” He takes a deep, shuttered breath. “I was drugged, of course, they couldn't be too careful. They laughed and laughed like it was the _best thing_. Like it was bloody _Christmas_. All I could think was how glad I was I'd burned it off. It made no difference, of course. They found ways to... there were electro-shock treatments, this device that would stuff images and feelings of me liking what they were doing into my head. They got around everything I did to stop it. I...”

“ **No** ,” I grit out. “You _did_ stop it.”

Khan lets out a harsh laugh. “I suppose I did. I broke free one day while they were busy slicking themselves up and slipping in. I disemboweled all of them with the femur I ripped from the one who always liked it soft and slow and _deep._ After I finished the job on him... they all pissed themselves in their desperation to get away. I took my time. I can still _taste_ it; can still see the blood everywhere. He screamed beautifully, James. There was so much blood. _It wasn't white anymore_. Once I made certain they were all dead, I wiped myself as throughly as I could and grabbed a change of clothes. Then I somehow made myself to you.”

“Khan...” I swallow and take a tentative step toward him. His eyes, I will never forget his eyes. Instead of the madness I'd expected to see there, I see nothing. Nothing at all. “Khan, you're safe now."

He sighs and holds his arms out to me and I go to him. I hold him against my chest as long as I can while he just... _screams_ blood-curdling rage and pain onto my shoulder. I just keep making these pointless sounds into his hair. He has a grip on me that I know will heavily bruise later, but I don't care.

I'm in shock, I know. I've been in it before, way too many times. I can't get the images of his crew's severed heads laying there in front of him out of my mind. Or the sound of how many times he must have screamed and begged and cried. I feel sick to my stomach and I don't know what to do. For the second time in my life, I'm scared. I'm holding a man in my arms who isn't just a murderer, he's a fucking psychopath, and he's been torn to shreds.

I don't notice the Vulcan standing in the doorway, or how his hands are clenched into fists and his breathing is elevated. I don't see that he's looking at us like he heard everything.

 

\-------

 

Elder Spock requested that I remain on New Vulcan to help with a refit of one of their additional satellite colonies. The Enterprise will be providing aid once her own refit is finished and she can travel. Everything else is settled for the most part; Khan has an apartment on New Vulcan in one of the more upscale medical facilities, and I've moved in with him for now. There are guards posted outside at all times. He has a personal Healer, Rasha, who oversees everything.

All this isn't enough for Bones, and I know why. I just wish he'd let it go. He hasn't been sleeping in the same breathing-space as Khan for te past several weeks. He has _no_ idea what it's like. Just last night, I was napping on the sofa and he woke me up with his screaming. _Another nightmare,_ I thought. I checked in on him and called for his Healer.

He's been undergoing these treatments for his mind every afternoon. I don't personally think it's doing a damned thing for him, but Rasha is insistent on it. He's convinced that he can “reassemble the pieces.” All I've seen is he's making him less stable. Khan can't remember half of what is said to him, and he breaks things at random intervals in fits of rage. _Hell_.

Elder Spock's also got a team of Healers looking into reconstructive surgeries. They believe they can fix it so he can urinate properly, among other things. He's approved of the first procedure, as long as he can be conscious during it. They agreed, simply because of the last incident with sedation.

I wasn't there until the end, so I had no idea anything was going on until I got the call that he'd lost it. Just completely fucking _lost it_. He broke his own arm in an effort to get away from the Vulcan with the needle. By the time I'd gotten there, he was a sobbing mess.

I managed to calm him down _some_ , but it wasn't easy. He was just sitting there on the floor, rocking back and forth, curled into a tight ball, while holding his broken arm, and crying and screaming the same thing over and over. I got him to open his eyes and look at me and attempt to listen to me tell him a story about these stupid plates I bought so I could make him dinner. It finally ended when he had another seizure that put him in the hospital for a week.

So no sedation unless I'm right next to him and it's in pill form.

 

\-------

 

It's a few months into our stay on New Vulcan, and Elder Spock has brought Healer Rasha by for a brief visit. I'm sitting across from them on one the two overstuffed, plush, chocolate brown couches in the apartment I share with Khan. There's a transalum coffee table between us, and they're sitting on the other couch. We went for transalum after Khan broke the last one about a month ago.

“There are two distinct 'personalities,' as Human medicine still calls them. John Harrison remains the dominant one.” Rasha is an elegant fellow, even for a Vulcan, with his almost delicate manner. He is wearing an outfit completely in dark tan, and with his hair and eyes, he could blend into his seat. I find I don't happen to like him very much, but what can I do?

“Wha- who is the other one?” I bite my lip, figuring I already know this part.

“There are many smaller fragments, which I can easily aid him in restoring to their proper-”

Elder Spock interrupts him and answers my question, “The other is the 'Khan' we know.” He turns to Rasha, “Have you been updated on his current state? I do not believe it wise to continue the treatments at such a frequency at this time.”

“I have, yes. The more time this process takes, the less progress he may ultimately make. To continue working at this pace would be more merciful-”

“You are dealing with a Human mind, Healer, and a severely traumatised one at that. It is my view that we hold off on more mind treatments until his reconstructive surgeries are performed and he has had time to recover from those.”

“What evidence do you place for this decision?”

“Personal experience with Khan Noonien Singh in my own time, as well as personal experience with the frailties of a Human mind,” Spock says this with a sardonic smile on his face. “While the Human mind is amazingly capable of many wonderful things, it is fragile. Khan's is more so.”

Rasha stands and nods to the older Vulcan, then to me. “Very well. I shall take this into consideration.”

I nod back at him, trying to smile. I honestly just want him out of the apartment. I watch him walk away and out the door, and let out a sigh.

“You do not like him, do you, Jim?"

I turn back to the old Vulcan and laugh uncomfortably. “What gave it away? I don't like him in Khan's head and talking about everything's that happened to him like... like it was just a spilled ice cream cone in the park.” I run my right hand through my hair and let out another sigh. “I need a drink. God. We have no drinks.”

“Perhaps talking about what is bothering you will help.”

I look up at him and smile. “What should I say? That Khan's been up all night shaking and crying and I finally got him to sleep an hour ago?”

Spock shifts in his seat and crosses his legs, giving me that “analysing” look I'm so familiar with, only on an older face.

“Yeah. Well. We need to get the first surgery done as soon as possible. I don't think I can... I don't... I can't keep my mouth shut every time he wets the bed and I see the look on his face...” I look away and bury my head in my hands. “This is too much, Spock. To see him rendered to this, and to know what it's doing to him – It happened again last night. We're using the pads and the special clothes and _everything_. But one nightmare or sudden noise and... I couldn't get him out of the shower. I spent most of yesterday evening trying to get him out of the bathroom.”

I hear the rustle of fabric and the crinkling of paper, and suddenly there's a folded piece of synthpaper on the table between us. “Jim. There are no records of this.” Spock waits until I make eye contact before he continues. “There is an approved specialist, of whom you already know, that can recreate virtually any organ required, merely with a small sample of genetic material. On that paper is the contact information of another specialist who will work with Khan to do whatever _he_ wants – full reconstruction or merely repair.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have spoken with Khan. He expressed no desire as to the extent of reconstruction Rasha and his team are focusing on.”

“I know that, but I hadn't expected him to tell you that."

“Well, after I informed him of our... encounter in my time-line and how I felt about what had transpired in both, he felt he could be somewhat more open with me.” Spock had the Vulcan equivalent of a sheepish look upon his face. “This is something you are comfortable with, Jim?”

I make a face and an unattractive noise. “It's not about _me_.”

“He has feelings for you.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah, he does.” My smile is a small one, but it's there all the same.

“And how do you feel about _him_ , Jim?”

“He's... he's beautiful, Spock. He's everything I could have ever wanted, but never knew I could have.” I lean forward and pick up the paper on the table. “I didn't feel that way toward him in your time, did I?” Also not really a question.

“There is a great deal of difference between the two time-lines.”

I can hear what he isn't saying. “Yeah, but we weren't exactly friends then, were we?”

Spock nods, “No. You were mortal enemies. Khan became obsessed with causing your suffering, and eventually, your death.”

I let out a low whistle. “Sounds a bit like repressed desire, huh?” It's nice to be able to joke. It's been too long.

“Perhaps that is what it was. I will never know.”

I grin and shake my head. “I don't know, Spock. I'm still reeling from, well, everything. There's some things floating around in my head about what's proper, about what the right thing to do is in a situation like this... it sucks. Khan and I, we're... _involved_. Romantically. He...” I make a face, unsure if I can, or should, even try to say these things aloud.

Spock nods and I continue.

“When we... make love, it's different. It has to be, he has no...” I sigh and forcefully lean back into the couch. “I have a reputation. It's not exactly deserved, but it's there. Thinking about it makes me wonder if it's okay to do this, like this. I'd thought about wondering if I'm gay, but if he's got no... prick, I don't think it counts, does it? _God_.”

“Only you can claim a label for yourself, Jim. If you are attracted to him, there is nothing for it; that is fact. However, you may not ultimately have a preference.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Why does it matter to you?” Spock's eyes are narrowed, and he leans forward to look at me.

“I... think I'm in love with him.” The silence carries for several minutes, and Spock moves back to his previous position, relaxing his gaze.

“And you don't know what it means, or what to do.”

“Yes. This is a lot to take on. It's not just a 'relationship'."

“You're a caretaker. That does change the dynamic,” the older Vulcan is nodding.

“I love being with him. I do. More than anything.” I smile shakily. “But each time he wakes up from a nightmare, practically suffocating from his grief, and I try to hold him... does it do any good? Am I actually helping him at all? Last night he... I've never actually been in the room when it happens. He's always gone to sleep by himself and he even just leaves the room when triggered, so I didn't know how bad it got. I've never seen a grown man just lose it like that, Spock.”

I pull up the left sleeve of my navy sweater to show my wrist. “He held onto me, and just... fell apart. He held on like he was drowning and my arm was the only thing keeping him afloat.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “Spock, there has to be something we can do. I _can't_ -” I quickly bring my right hand up to my mouth.

“I can't watch him go _through_ this. He just... he begged for them to stop _touching_ him. Over and over, I tried telling him it was just _me_ , that no one else was there, but he couldn't hear me. That was when his back seized up and his _bladder_... it only made it worse, because that always hurts him in more ways than one. He was _crying_ , Spock. He was _crying_ and I couldn't make him _stop_ crying, and he was making these _awful sounds like someone was killing him_ -” I can feel Spock's arms around me, and I'm confused as to when he moved. “I tried to calm him down, but it didn't work.” I sniffle and lift up the bottom hem of my sweater. I hear Spock's sudden intake of breath, but he doesn't move away.

“All I could do was hold him while he started pulling at his hair. There's some of it _still_ on the floor in the bedroom. He bit through his lip, and I was trying to stop the bleeding when he mistook me for _someone else_ and threw all his weight on top of me. I tried to fight him off, but it just made him crazy. I was so _scared_... it's been a long time since I was that scared. He just... kept screaming at me to _kill_ him, to end all this.”

It's like I'm somewhere else. I can feel Spock's fingers in my hair, his hand on my face, and hear his soothing sounds. I can't speak over my own choked sobs. In the back of my mind, I register my back being rubbed and a kiss being placed on my left temple, but I'm too confused to relate to it. I let it go.

 

\-------

 

It's dark and warm. I feel safe, cradled in some sensation I can't understand. I vaguely remember another reality, where life isn't as complicated, where my whole family is there and I'm happy.

I open my eyes, and I know it's just a dream. I must've fallen asleep on the couch while Elder Spock was here. I sit up and rub my hand over my face, thinking I could use a shave. It's dark, and when I look out the wall of glass to my right, I can see one of New Vulcan's larger moons filling the sky. If I squint, I can probably even see the orbital docking station glittering above the horizon. I pretend for a moment that the Grey Lady is there, waiting for me, and not off on some mission with a younger Spock as Acting Captain; that Bones isn't there with him, and I've been left behind to tend to something I've got no experience with.

I play pretend a lot lately, about a lot of things. I like to pretend everything is fine; that the older Spock didn't help me to wrap my ribs last night after feeling carefully for broken bones or sprains; that the man I'm in love with doesn't scare me shitless at times. I even like to pretend that when we're kissing, I've been caught up in some whirlwind romance and Khan is my saving prince. It's pathetic, and I know it.

I asked the older Spock to keep this whole thing on the “down-low.” I can't let Bones or anyone else find out about what's happening here. I just... can't.

I love Khan. I love John Harrison. I love all the little unnamed pieces that sometimes come out when we're eating dinner, or laying next to each other on one of the couches. There's a small box of toys hidden in the linen closet. It's been a while since we played with those. I look over at the other couch in front of me, and I smile slightly at the light blue blanket on the back of it. It's been there about a week now. I tried to put it away, but he...

I frown. He sprained my left arm that day. I know it was an accident, but no one else will see it that way. _God_. I am so grateful to the older Spock. I've called him over many times since this thing started.

There's a knock on the door, and I sigh and get up to answer it. I take a look at my appearance in the reflection on the refrigerator door on my way through the kitchenette. I could not only use a shave, but a shower, too. I look like the mess I am. I make an attempt to at least straighten out my hair and vainly smooth out my sweater.

“Oh. Rasha. Hi,” I open the door and move aside to let him in. “I didn't expect you to be back so soon.”

“It is fine.” He looks at me, really looks at me. “You are unwell, Kirk.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Would you prefer I come back later?"

I glance over at the bedroom door, which is clearly visible just down the hall to my right, past the living room. “No. It's best to get it over with now.” I realise how that must sound. “I mean, whatever you want to say, it's best to say it now before he wakes up.”

Rasha nods and steps inside toward the island. “I would like to speak to you in private regarding Khan.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I move to sit on one of the stools. I don't bother offering one to him, as I doubt he'd take it anyway. He never sits unless the older Spock tells him to.

“It is not the most logical course of action that I continue to treat him."

“Wha-”

“I have reviewed the pertinent research, and I do not believe that I possess the proper understanding of the Human mind that is required for his care.” He's standing there, all prim and proper, and I just want to punch him in the face to see if he'll feel anything.

I stand up a little too quickly, nearly knocking the stool over. I barely catch it. “I know enough about mind-melds and Vulcanese to know what you're _not_ saying.” I catch my breath. “What have you done to him?!”

Rasha flinches at my harsh words – barely, but it's there. I hear the tell-tale creak of the bedroom door opening, and turn to look at Khan. He's wearing an open, light grey, Vulcan-style under-robe, and the same loose black pants, cut off just below the knees, that he's been wearing since we got here. I smile at him. His hair is a total mess, and a slight bit longer than it was when he found me at HQ. We're still working on cutting it, but it hasn't been easy. None of this has been easy.

“Hey, Sleepyhead.”

He grunts at me, and pads down the hall to stop in front of the refrigerator. He barely glances at Rasha, but I see the Vulcan flinch all the same. I narrow my eyes at him.

“We're out of juice,” I hear Khan say. His voice is hoarse, undoubtedly from all the screaming and shouting yesterday.

“I'll get more later.” My own voice sounds off to my ears, and he turns from his perch with his head buried in the fridge to look over at me. Our eyes meet.

“Get out,” he commands. Rasha smoothly slips between us to the door, and we're alone. Khan moves away from the fridge to stand in front of me. The sound of the fridge door clicking shut is muffled by the sound of the motor running. Everything feels muted to me right now.

“Are you okay? That bastar-” My voice is shaking, all of me is shaking. I can't see for how watery everything's become. “Did he hurt you?” Khan's just standing there, looking at me, confused.

“The Vulcan?” I nod. “That pompous piss-ant couldn't do anything to me if it tried.”

I start laughing. It's small, quiet at first, but then I'm vaguely aware I sound slightly hysterical. It's not helped by Khan's still-confused look.

“Are _you_ all right, James?”

“No. No, I'm not.” I've stopped laughing now. Too quickly, and Khan notices, too. My face is screwed up and I still can't see. My throat hurts, everything's too tight. I can't breathe. There's another look on his face now. One that registers as recognition, and he's suddenly holding me, albeit stiffly. My hands go up to grasp his robe of their own accord, and I'm trying to muffle my sobs into his right shoulder.

“Shhh... James. Whatever it is, it's fine,” he whispers.

“No it isn't!” What I say is muffled by his robe. I start to cough, and my breath hitches when my bruised ribs are jostled by the involuntary action. Khan backs away and pulls my sweater up over my chest.

“I did this.” His voice is small, angry.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Just like your broken _leg_ wasn't my fault? Or your sprained _wrist_?” He pulls my sweater back down with a gentleness that he rarely shows.

“You were having a bad day that day, Khan. It's not-”

“It _is_!” He moves away from me, presents his back to me, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his head down. I hate seeing him like that, all closed-off; full of grief. Just like he was the morning he woke up and realised his family was gone. Well and truly gone. It _was_ a bad day that day and I don't care what he said. “I've no right to touch you.”

 

“Kha-”

“ _No_!” He whirls back around, his fists clenched at his sides. “No, James. The Vulcan... _your_ Vulcan, is right. I'm too dangerous. You should go back to your ship and your own fam- _crew_ and be done with me.” His eyes are shining in the low light of the room, as New Vulcan's first sun begins to rise.

“ _No,_ ” my whisper is loud in the deafening quiet of the room. “I won't leave you. You've gotten everything else... I won't abandon you, too.” Because I know what that's like. I know what that does to a person in even a quarter of his state.

“ _James_.” His arms are open and I willingly walk into them. I can feel his breath in my hair. “I am not a good man.”

“I don't care.”

We stay like that until the second sun peeks over the horizon and the moon has finally set for the morning.

“I love you,” I quietly whisper into his chest.

“Shhh, you don't.”

“I _do_. Stop it.” I lean back just enough to look into his eyes. “You're beautiful.” I smile at the face he makes. “You are. The most beautiful man I've ever seen.”

“Then you are blind, Kirk.” I don't like it when he uses my last name.

“No, you don't. It's 'James.' I...” I swallow past the lump in my throat. I'm so tired of crying. I don't like that either. “I have to be your 'James,' or I can't-”

“Shhh.” He takes my face in his large hands, and places a kiss on my forehead. He smooths away the tears on my face. “Forgive me. _James_. I make you sad.”

I choke on a half-sob, half-laugh, and he's suddenly kissing my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose. He's making these quiet shushing noises, then he kisses my mouth. It starts out as it usually does, just a chaste little thing that supposed to somehow convey affection when he can't otherwise with his words. It's usually like this after he's had a particularly rough night and he sees what it's done to me; what he's done to me. He deepens it this time, his tongue making it's way past my lips to caress my own, the delicate pressure of his lips massaging mine.

I slip my hands up into his hair, and a moan escapes me. I sigh as he moves away to place kisses on my jaw and my neck. “Khan...” I tug gently on his hair and he stops and looks up at me. His pupils aren't even dilated, something I've had to get used to. He can't physically want anything anymore. “You don't-” I swallow. “You don't have to do this.”

“I want to make you feel good, James. _My_ James.”

After looking for something in his gaze that I'm not sure I find, I nod and he leads me down the hall to the bedroom. The bed is a mess; pillows on the floor, sheets torn free. He reaches down for a pillow and lays it on the bed near the headboard. “Lay down.”

I comply and climb onto the bed and lay on my back. It's not the most romantic of settings, but when he's like this, I let him do what he wants. It's rare enough that if I don't accept it, I'll be left wanting later. I never ask for this. That isn't something I have a right to do.

I resist the urge to straighten the sheets and move the pillow to a more comfortable position as he approaches the bed, a bottle in his left hand. He isn't looking at me, and I can't catch his gaze.

He moves his robe aside and climbs onto the bed to the left of me. Now he looks at me. “What do you want, James?” His voice is flat, with no affection in it, as is usual.

“Whatever you want.” We've done this before. I know what to say and what not to say.

He nods. “Roll over and face the door.” I do as he says. It isn't long before his weight is over my left side and back, and I've pressed my face into the pillow. I feel the fingers of his right hand gently caressing my scalp, and his left hand under my sweater. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my lounge pants and pulls them down over my thighs. I relax as he pushes my legs into a fold, so that I'm in a sort-of fetal position. He takes his time, and I know to not make a sound unless he tells me to.

His hand is warm when a finger breaches me, but the lubricant is cold. It burns slightly, as it always does, but I don't tell him. My hands grip the knit of my sweater. It takes longer than usual for it feel good. When it does, I start to push back toward his hand, and he places little kisses along my throat. That's when I know I can make a sound. He likes it when I whine low in my throat, and when I moan, so I start with that. He pushes me further into the mattress to get the friction that I need, and I slowly hump down onto it.

“Do you want more, James?” Khan whispers into my ear, his grip on my hair tightening.

I moan in response, and he starts using two fingers now. In the back of my mind I think of telling him his hand is getting dry and that it hurts this soon, but I can't let him stop. I turn my face further into the pillow and bite down. I lift my hips and let him set the pace.

His fingers find my prostate and I jump. He pauses for me to adjust to the sensation and begins to massage it. This is always my favorite part; when he stops thrusting into me and just touches me in such an intimate way.

“James. My beautiful James.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth and carefully bites down. I moan and flinch, the movement causing a sudden sharp touch of his fingers within me. I gasp and he removes his fingers for a moment. They are more slick now when he returns, so I know he's added more lubricant. For that I am grateful and I give him a little clenching of my internal muscles as thanks. I can feel his smile against the back of my neck, and he rewards me by putting his remaining weight on me and taking me as deep as he can. “Oh, James. Precious James.”

My grip on my sweater tightens and my thrusting between his hand and the mattress quickens. He knows I'm close; it's been too long for me to last. I moan loudly as he rolls on top of me, his legs pinning me in place, his grip on my hair tightening to painful. A whine escapes me and his grip lessens. He sooths away the discomfort with a gentle massage of my scalp.

“Shh... come for me, James.” He adds a third finger to stretch me further, and it isn't long before I do.

I lay there, surrounded by sudden warmth and his kisses to my hair, my neck, my hip. Then he's gone. I hastily pull up my pants, ignoring the stickiness I feel and the dampness between my cheeks.

“Khan.” He's sitting on the windowsill, his legs pulled up with his arms around them. He's looking at me, his eyes wide and shining in the semi-darkness.

“Was it good?”

I clear my throat and nod. I go to get off the bed and I'm startled by how damp it is where he was just moments ago. It explains the extra dampness of my pants. “You weren't wearing-”

“I'll change them.”

“Okay. I'd like a shower... then I'll make us some breakfast.” I smile at him. I'm proud of him, really. He's usually so upset when he can't hold it, but he seems okay this time. “You okay?”

“You aren't disgusted.” It wasn't a question.

“No. Why would I be? It's no different from your come, and I wouldn't have a problem with that.”

“You like it,” he says in wonder.

“I... suppose I do. Maybe that makes me weird, but I do like it.”

Khan exhales something between a relieved laugh and a confused sigh, and he unfolds his legs and relaxes his posture. “You are something else, James.”

I have a satisfied smile on my face as I head to the shower.

 

\-------

 

“This is what I want done,” Khan is resolute in what he wants, and I'm here to support him.

It's been a few days since Rasha walked out on Khan's treatment plan, and he took a few other Healers with him in the process. It's one of those “Vulcan propriety” things where they just bow out rather than work it out. Oddly enough, all of the older Vulcans have made the decision to remain as a part of the team.

Khan wanted to speak to the older Spock about what his plans are, and about his options. Right now, I'm leaning against the far arm of one of our couches, with Khan sitting in the middle cushion, and Elder Spock sitting across from him on the other couch in the same position he was in during his last visit.

“Are you certain?” Spock raises a brow and takes the proffered PADD back.

“Yes. I have no desire for a complete reconstruction.”

“Very well.” He turns toward me. “Jim? Do you still have the contact information for Dr. Leuson?”

I nod, “I do.” I pull the piece of synthpaper Spock had given me the other day out of the right pocket of my jeans and pass it to Khan. He takes it.

“The procedure can be completed here, at this facility, as soon as you wish it.”

“Not yet,” Khan hands the slip back to me without removing his eyes from Spock's face. “I have another request.”

“Yes?”

“I want _you_ to continue my treatments.”

Several minutes pass, and just as I think Spock will decline, he answers, “There is a reason Healer Rasha backed out.”

“He is weak. He couldn't stomach what he saw. You are different.” Khan narrows his eyes at Spock. “He isn't Human.”

“I am only half, Khan.”

“That is enough.”

“You are aware of what you are asking of me? My methods will be much different from a clinical observance of your mind.”

“That is what I require,” Khan's hands are clenched in his lap, his jaw set. He leans forward, rests his arms on his knees, and he and Spock have a bit of a stare-down.

“Very well; however, you may see things you will not wish to see from my own mind.”

“You mean my death.”

“... Yes.”

I push away from the arm I'm leaning against. “Can we just... wait for a while on this? Do you have to do it right away? I mean, you're doing better, Khan.”

“It all waits for me to let it slip, James. The sooner this is dealt with, the better it will be for you.” He looks at his clenched fists, a grimace on his face.

“I don't _care_ about me! You're the one with all the-” I sigh. “Khan, please. You had trouble with what Rasha was doing-”

“Because he is a _fool_ and had no idea what he was dealing with.”

“Khan-”

“No, James. I want this. If not for me, let me want it for _you_.” He looks up at me, then, still leaning forward, still coiled tightly.

“I don't- _why_? Why would you do this for _me_?”

Khan closes his eyes, but doesn't turn his face away. “You cry. At night, when you don't think I can hear you. When we are within touching distance in the morning, your hands twitch with the desire to touch me, but you hold back.” He opens his eyes now, a pained expression across his sculpted features. “You will let me do anything to you when we are in bed, regardless of your own pleasure, simply because you are desperate for what I _can_ give you.” He glances at Spock, who is worriedly looking at my face, then back at me. “If I can't be a _man_ with you, at least let me _be_ with you."

“Khan, I-” I close my own eyes now, wishing Spock would just _look away_. “You _are_ with me.”

“No, I'm not. I try to be, but I am always there. Surrounded by white walls and...” Khan's voice lowers to a harsh whisper, “Taunting laughter, pain, humiliation. You don't deserve that, James.”

I am whispering now, too. “Neither do you.” I open my eyes, then, ignoring Spock.

“I told you I am not a good man, James. Perhaps I do deserve-”

Spock interrupts, “I have seen you at your worst, Khan. Not even you deserve what has happened. None of you deserved what has happened. _Not one_. I had hoped this time it would be different... you have another chance, though not one that you would have chosen.”

Khan looks offended. “Who are you to say I would not have chosen this?”

“Khan-” I start.

“No,” he gestures for me to keep quiet. “Why do you say I would not have chosen this?”

“You would have chosen to be violated?” Spock tenses up, as though expecting a fight that Khan does not start.

“I would have chosen anything over what my life was before. Even this. I love James.”

“Ah.” Spock relaxes back into the cushions. “You judge your life on the basis of whether Jim is in it. Not much has changed from my time, then.” He smiles.

“My life is nothing without James.” I sit next to him on the couch and take one of his fisted hands in mine. He visibly relaxes and wraps our fingers together. “He is all I have left.” Khan's holding his chin up, a visible shield of pride against the world.

Spock looks at me, suddenly sad. “I understand the sentiment.”

“You were involved with your James.” Khan says simply.

I inhale quickly, looking from Khan to Spock. The older Vulcan doesn't look surprised at Khan's deduction.

“Yes. We were _t'hy'la_. Bondmates.” Suddenly everything begins to make sense to me; how this older version of Spock would come over immediately at any problem I was having, however small; how he would comfort me when I was upset, even though, as a Vulcan, it had to have been uncomfortable.

“I didn't know. God, _Spock,_ ” I reach forward with my free hand, but Khan takes it in his.

“It would do no good now, James,” Khan says, sadly.

“Maybe not, but-” I look over at him, upset.

“You have always had a kind heart, Jim. Able to love those who were unlovable,” the older Vulcan smiles at me, then at Khan. “You are in the best of hands, Khan. Truly.”

“I know,” he manages a small smile in return.

Spock stands. “You have told me what you wish to do, now I shall go about making it so.” I go to stand and show him out, but he holds up a hand to stall me. “I know the way out. I am not _that_ old,” and leaves.

I lean my head against Khan's left shoulder and sigh. It's been weeks since I've gotten any decent sleep, and I'm exhausted. I feel him let go of my hands and begin stroking my hair, my face.

“My beautiful James,” he whispers in my ear. I smile weakly. “The light of my world.” I close my eyes and lean further into his touch. “My precious one.” My chest feels tight. “My lovely Captain.” I can feel dampness on my cheeks. “The man who saved me.” He wraps his arms around me and I don't even care how it must look to him that I cry so often now. “Shhh, my sweet one. Rest now.” I grasp at his loose navy t-shirt, and bury my face in his chest. “Shhh, my James.”

“It's not fair,” I gasp out. “Even before all this... you did nothing _wrong_. What they did... what Marcus did... none of it was fair. None of it was _right_.” I'm so angry with everything, with everyone. I'm pissed at myself because I can't just man up and stop this sniveling.

“Life is not fair, James.” His hands sooth over my back and my hair. “You are wrong. I have committed more than my share of atrocities in my time. I murdered a part of your family. Or have you forgotten?”

“I... no, of course not.” I rub my sleeves over my eyes.

“How can you forgive me for what I have done to you?”

“You love me when no one else will.” My voice is small, far away.

“I hurt you. That is not love.”

“Maybe it's the only love I know.”

Khan moves me to the side and looks at my face. I feel his hands on my chest, pushing me back onto the couch. I go willingly. His hands are at the hem of my black long-sleeved shirt, pulling it up and over my head. He tosses it away and it lands on the coffee table.

My ribs are still sore, and he gently caresses his fingers over where the bandages were until that morning. He rubs his right thumb on my left nipple and I gasp.

“You are so responsive,” he whispers. Something is wrong with his voice, but I can't place it. Then his hands are at my belt, and he's pulling down my jeans. We've yet to see each other naked. I didn't think he was comfortable with it. I don't know what's changed.

My jeans and underwear are at my thighs. He stares into my eyes and palms my flaccid dick and balls with his left hand. He presses down and I inhale quickly. His hand curls around me and holds me.

“I despise this. This organ that has been a nuisance at best, and a terror at worst.” I'm confused. “This... foul thing that has no place in my life anymore.” He tightens his grip around me painfully and my breath hitches. “I would never wish for it again.” I put my left hand over his and squeeze.

“Khan.” I whisper, not knowing if he's listening.

“I would take it from you, too, so that you may never use it against me,” his voice is wrong. Something's wrong. A coldness falls over me.

“Khan, please-”

“Shut up!” He yells at me, and I let out an unattractive squeak in my effort to keep silent. His gaze softens, and he lessens his grip. His thumb begins stroking me. I squirm, trying to avoid the strange sensation. “ _You will not move_.” I still. He slides his free hand up into my hair, and leans forward to crush our mouths together. I taste blood where my bottom lip gets caught between our teeth. His grip on my hair becomes painful and he pulls me up toward him, into a sitting position. “You like this.”

I nod, as I don't know what else to do. He yanks my head back by my hair and I gasp. I can feel his left hand holding my dick as he's pumping up and down. I don't know what to do.

It stays like this, his eyes on mine, while he jerks me off. I don't want this, I wish I could say to him. It has to be in my eyes, it has to. It's taken too long for me to get hard, and he's angry now. I can see it in his face, in the hard line of his shoulders. He's suddenly shoving me back onto the couch, yanking my pants away from me. He stops pumping my dick and takes a hold of my wrists between us. I'm pinned beneath his weight.

His face is barely an inch from mine and he screams, “Tell me you don't want this!” My eyes slam shut and a barely audible “ _stop_ ” escapes my lips. “Too bad,” he yells, and lifts me back up by my hair to slam me back down, over and over. I can't breathe; something is wrong inside me. My head is blossoming in pain, and I can't see for the spots in my vision when I do try to open them. He stops, with me hanging in the air by my hair and his left hand gripping my wrists with bruising force. I hear a faint cracking sound and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I look away from him with all my might, despite how much it hurts. The air inside my lungs comes rushing out with a sick, wet sound, and I start wailing.

He lets me drop and moves away. Only then do I realise that awful wheezing sound is coming from me. I barely register being picked up and held to a warm, trembling chest with a fluttering heartbeat. I am strangely numb all over while I'm being rocked back and forth. There are silent tears landing on my back, and my chest feels all wrong.

 


End file.
